Everyone remembers the first time they saw “The Rocky Horror Picture Show”.
My first time was in middle school, at my best friend Natalie’s house. Like me, she was also an only child but, unlike me, her parents allowed her to watch whatever she wanted. MPAA ratings were thrown to wayside in her household, which I consistently envied. It was from these movies and television shows that she learned how to properly use swear words, what it meant to kiss someone of the same gender, all of which she passed onto my hungry sheltered ears. But when Natalie told me about this movie, she said it was unlike anything else she’d ever seen — and she needed to share it with me.
As two 13-year-old girls who enjoyed Panic! at the Disco and collecting Hot Topic tchotchkes, it soon became our favorite movie. We’d pour over each scene in the late hours of the night when her parents had long gone to sleep, leaving us with Costco-brand soda and a television remote. We would quote lines to one another. We even forced our friends to watch it too: we screened it in her dining room for our 14th birthday party, our friends in their sleeping bags armed with confusion.
For Kristin, a member of the New York City Rocky Horror Picture Show (NYC RHPS) shadowcast, she first saw the movie when she was only two-years-old.
“It was on Halloween and my parents were watching it,” she recalls, while expertly applying her makeup for that evening’s performance. “And I remember, when Frank kills Eddie — spoiler — I was terrified. I hid in a closet for an hour. Now, I do the movie every weekend.”
Gathered on the carpet outside a movie theater are Kristin’s castmates, their bodies stretched out among set-pieces, suitcases full of costumes and props, their language peppered with equal parts exuberance and expletives. This is Kristin’s makeshift dressing room: she balances a lighted, three-paneled mirror on a plastic folding chair, her half-costumed body perched before it. Tonight, she is portraying a corset-and-fishnet-wearing mad scientist called Dr. Frank-N-Furter.
Shadowcasting is the act of imitating the actions of a movie, in front of the screen, while the film is projected behind the performers. The exact genesis of this phenomenon is unknown, but it’s inarguably accredited to “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” dating back to sometime in the late 1970s.
“There’s nothing like shadowcasting,” gushes Laurel, another NYC RHPS cast member who portrays Columbia (a character also affectionately nicknamed “Sparkle Tits”). “It’s campy. It’s fun. No one takes anything seriously. And if you fuck up, you can do it better next time.”
From L to R: Ricky as Brad, Lilith as Janet; Tori & Dev, two Midnight Insanity regulars; Nathalie as Magenta / Polaroids by Brit Wigintton
Since its premiere in 1975, the film is screened and performed regularly around the country. From summer camps to small-town theaters to college campuses, most teenagers and young adults nationwide have come into contact with this movie in their lifetime. It’s become a pop culture touchstone, frequently name-dropped in various films and television programs.
The experience of watching a live shadowcast is unlike any other. Before even entering the theater, the night instantly detours from previously-instilled movie-going etiquette. Audience members yell at the screen, throw uncooked rice or confetti into the air, get up and dance in their seats. Some “callbacks” — the words or phrases that the audience shouts at specific times in the movie, in response to what’s onscreen — have been around since the inception of shadowcasting. It’s a strange development of oral tradition, distinctive of this particular movie, passed down from audience to audience throughout decades.
“The Rocky Horror Picture Show” holds the record for longest theatrical run of all time which, given its niche content, seems to defy logic. It’s intention was to satirize science fiction B-movies of the 1970s: defined by outlandish plots, cheap costumes and even cheaper sets. It stars Tim Curry as Dr. Frank-N-Furter, a scientist determined to create the perfect man, who spends the entirety of the film parading around in high heels and lingerie. A very young Barry Bostwick and Susan Sarandon play Brad Majors and Janet Weiss, respectively, a newly engaged, chaste couple who encounter Frank’s castle one stormy evening. As one can imagine, when the two extremes collide, chaos ensues. Oh, and it’s a musical.
Before the show, crew members follow the line outside the theater, armed with a tube of red lipstick. If you’re a virgin — and no, “The Rocky Horror Glee Show” or FOX’s “The Rocky Horror Picture Show: Let’s Do the Time Warp Again” doesn’t count — they mark your cheeks or forehead with a red V. They might even add their own creations on an exposed chest or mid-drift: choke me, slut, jailbait, dyke, likes it rough. Those bearing scarlet letters also are invited — and sometimes forced — to participate in the nightly “virgin sacrifice”. Depending on the location, this could range from mildly uncomfortable (“Who can do the best orgasm noise?”) to outrageous (“Get on your knees and deep throat this banana. Whoever swallows first, wins. Spitters are quitters!”) and anywhere in-between.
“This movie is about releasing sexual tension and aggression,” Laurel explains. “I’ve realized now, that when I was 14, 15, that’s exactly what I needed. I was angry at the entire world and I’d just discovered sex. That’s exactly what I needed to get out.”
For the teenagers pairing off during the particularly long-winded and uneventful “dinner scene” — their barely-clad bodies tearing down the aisles towards that momentarily-special someone they coordinated with earlier in the night — this freedom is felt wholeheartedly, with eager hands, open mouths, and lots of tongue.
From L to R: Nicky from Ventura’s Too Much Coffee Cast, guesting as Dr. Frank-N-Furter at Sins O’ the Flesh; Genny, a former shadowcast member, dressed up for NYC RHPS; The “Floor Show” cast of Midnight Insanity / Polaroids by Brit Wigintton
Inside the Art Theatre in downtown Long Beach, crew members filter down the aisles, numerous boxes of props and costumes in tow — a tangled mess of cardboard, sequins, feathers, plywood. At half-past eleven, a queue has formed outside, a palpable buzz filling the air, electrified with excitement. Bathed in neon light from the marquee above, the soon-to-be audience members’ conversations become an indistinct haze, floating down the otherwise deserted block.
The performers of Long Beach’s shadowcast, Midnight Insanity, smoke cigarettes, take photos with each other and anyone who asks, and attempt to sell their merchandise. They’re all volunteers, motivated solely by their passion for performing this particular movie weekend after weekend. All the proceeds from ticket sales are given to the theater, so the purchase of merchandise and post-show tips remain highly important on each evening’s agenda.
With monthly “lingerie nights”, the encouragement of sexual fluidity, and twerking contests, one can’t help but consider how this type of unadulterated expression of freedom fits into the current state of the world, one that encourages consent and has zero tolerance of the converse. The film itself contains a pair of questionable scenes in which Dr. Frank-N-Furter deceives Janet and subsequently her fiancé, Brad, into sleeping with him. Both give their clear consent, but it still remains a scene that some find problematic and borderline disturbing, depending on how crudely the shadowcast depicts it.
“[My first experience] was surprising, because I was worried that it would feel unsafe,” says Rachel, a regular attendee of Sins O’ the Flesh, Los Angeles’ shadowcast. She wears a pink faux-leather jacket to conceal an under-bust corset and pink, heart-shaped sparkle pasties with matching tassels – she won’t reveal them until she’s inside. “I was worried it would feel a little too rowdy. But you actually feel very safe here. It’s a protected, rowdy environment.”
And, like the film itself, the live shadowcast performances of Rocky Horror have become known as a debaucherous free-for-all where nudity is not only accepted but encouraged. When I was in high school, going to see “Rocky Horror” was something to do on a Saturday night, sans parental gaze, but it also carried a larger significance — it was a rite of passage. Somewhere to take your clothes off, makeout with whomever you desired (opposite sex, same sex, maybe both), and never see them again. It was a three-hour surge of underage, built-up sexuality, made that much stronger by anticipation.
Snapshot of a typical Saturday night at the Nuart Theatre, Los Angeles. / Sins O’ the Flesh (Courtesy)
Cat, a member of Midnight Insanity, joined the shadowcast to reclaim her body after being sexually assaulted in her freshman year. “I decided, instead of inverting my sexuality, that I’d go into performing in the most sexual way that I’d seen — and I joined Rocky Horror.”
Although she used to regularly participate as Columbia, Cat now alternates between acting as the Criminologist and “Trixie” (the name given generations of shadowcasts ago to the character who performs a striptease to “Science Fiction/Double Feature” as the opening credits roll beside the iconic red lips). And, when she’s Trixie, Cat exudes a special kind of pride: unabashedly peeling off her dress and bra until she wears nothing but skimpy underwear, fishnet thigh-highs, and a glow of assurance as the song fades out and the movie begins.